


Wicked Games

by Soul93



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drama, F/M, Humor, Implied Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul93/pseuds/Soul93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m just new to this,” he added lamely.</p><p>“Hooking up with random strangers?” she supplied with a teasing tilt to her voice.</p><p>“That too, but I meant paying for well... well...oh dear there is just no way to say it out loud without seeming like an insensitive bastard,” he said.</p><p>“Prostitution is an occupation not an indignity... you don’t have to be apologetic.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing so I just decided to wrote something a bit longer. It's racy, AU and honestly there's no deep, bloody plot to be found. Just something light, funny and hopefully romantic. I wrote this before finding a title, so for inspiration I went through my playlist, Wicked Games by The Weekend popped up and the tone of the song really fit with the story so hence the title.
> 
> Half assed editing as is becoming the norm. I apologize for any mistakes.

This is not exactly how he preferred to spend his Friday evenings, nor was the locale as comforting as his study. Ichabod Crane prided himself in being a level headed man that often spent his life thinking three moves ahead. A habit he attributed to playing chess from a very early age. So it was rather unexpected that when his dear friend Henry Parish knocked at his door five hours earlier with a grim expression on his face and said quite bluntly, “You need to get drunk.” He, Ichabod, had decided to humour his friend and join him instead of the evening he’d already planned. 

Share a drink or two before bidding Henry goodnight and head back home were a cup of tea, a book and his very empty home awaited him. That had been his initial plan, but it was his own folly for underestimating the wicked concoction that is a White Russian and his own friend’s brilliance. It had barely been an hour- he had been on his second drink and before he knew it, was pouring ‘his heart out’. As much as Ichabod liked to think of himself as being a man who could easily adapt to any situation vodka proved that he had yet to adapt to his divorce.

The whole thing was absurd. How does one just wake up one morning and decide that they did not love you enough? Love you enough? Enough for what?! An eternity together? He wasn’t even asking for that long! Just until they were both so old and feeble minded it no longer mattered why they fell in love in the first place except that they had. Gentleman he was, he refused to blame Katrina. His beautiful, devoted and beloved wife- 

“Ex-wife,” Henry so eloquently corrected when his ramblings made him reflect on their past rather than the present.

He hadn’t realised how miserable he was, they both had been if he were being honest. And with vodka there really was no other way of being. Katrina had done what he’d been too cowardly to do, free them both from the prison that had become their marriage. Honestly, was there no end to his failings? First, as a son, when he could not live up to his father’s expectations. Then on life, by refusing to be steamrolled by the latest trends, making him an odd somewhat displaced figure. Now he had failed to do the one thing he had yelled to his father he would succeed better than he ever had- love the person dearest to him.

“Okay, for the amount you paid you get three hours, got it?” 

The question immediately brought him out of his reverie and for a moment he stood dumbly with his mouth slightly open, staring at the voluptuous and scantily dressed woman before him.

She must have seen something in his face because her face softened slightly, her red lips forming a smile. “Look, you’re in good hands just try not to cry...” she told him sympathetically.

“Why would I cry?” He asked puzzled enough to forget his woes and current situation.

“Handsome man like you, reeking of alcohol and dressed like death warmed over?” she began shaking her blonde curls. “They usually do.” With that she turned to the door, painted a glaring red colour, she knocked twice before turning back to him. She looked like she was going to say more but instead walked past him.

Alone and somewhat less inebriated than an hour ago, Ichabod hesitated. What was he thinking? He’d only meant to take a walk, clear his mind and marvel at bliss that was youthful ignorance. But the neon lights had called to him, almost as if the huge name: Betsie’s Best, had some profound meaning. Now he was doubtful... perhaps it was the alcohol? It was known for clouding judgment and leading honest men astray.

No, he would leave. He’d just turned, about to make a hasty exit, when the door swung open.

“Do you intend to just stand there all night?”

He might have jumped rather undignified at the sound as he spun on his heels to face the woman at the door. From the crisp and commanding tone, he’d expected... well at least someone 5 ft 7 not the petite form that was staring at him with a rather bored expression on her face.

“Uhm... are you addressing me?” he asked nervously.

“No I’m addressing the pink elephant behind you,” she deadpanned.

It took several seconds for him to react, because he – rather dumbly- glanced behind his shoulder in search of the pink elephant only to belatedly catch on to her sarcasm. How he loathed being nervous, it always made him seem less intelligent than he was. “Ah you’re sarcastic,” he remarked with an arched eyebrow.

“And you’re wasting time,” she retorted. She turned and disappeared inside the room, leaving the door in open invitation.

Ichabod glanced hesitantly about the corridor before ducking inside and closing the door behind him. For a moment the sudden movement made his head swim, forcing him to lean against the door for support.

Without the dimly lit corridor he could clearly see the woman now. She was standing by a small rather ill looking vanity table as she brushed out her hair. In spite of himself, he could not help notice the comely form of her body encased in a flimsy gown that skimmed just mid thigh. And to his embarrassment she caught him as he was dragging his eyes up her rather impressive bosom. He blushed, stuttering incoherently even to his own ears.

“Oh dear, just my luck I get Nemo,” she drawled, hands on her shapely hips. She took a step forward and he pressed himself against the door, causing her to regard him with an odd expression. “Look, it’s been a crazy week. So why don’t we just hurry up and get this over with?” she suggested but she was already peeling over her gown, revealing tantalizing skin clothed in black silk.

Had it really been eight months since the divorce? Eleven since he’d experienced the pleasures of the nuptial bed?

“Here are the rules. No freaky stuff, no beatings, no talking-”

“But if we don’t communicate how will you know what I find pleasing?” he blurted in spite of his misgivings.

She arched an eyebrow and for the first time graced him with a grin. “Oh believe me...I’ll know,” she asserted, her voice leaving him with no doubt at all.

She walked slowly up to him, but before she could touch him he held her by the shoulders to halt her advance. “I’m Ichabod Crane,” he introduced.

“You could be freaking George Clooney for all I care,” she said with a shrug. “This isn’t a book club...”

“Book?” he echoed suddenly finding a bit of control over himself. “I love books, yes that’s what will do... talk about books.” Establish neutral ground first, it seemed like a good place to start. Talking would be a good distraction to calm his frayed nerves and clear the fog in his brain caused by alcohol.

“Excuse me?”

“Never heard of it, but if you’re willing to share, I’m sure I’ll find it quite interesting.” He was rambling like an idiot now, steering the nonplussed woman to the bed where he sat her down- rather awkwardly, before taking his seat across the room by the vanity. He stared back at her expectantly and she just sat staring at him like he was crazy.

“Am I going to have to use my gun, because I have it and I know how to use it?” she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

His eyes widened. “No, of course not!” he exclaimed. “Why would you need a gun?”

“Because in this line of business there are a lot of crazies,” she said.

“Well I’m not one of them,” he insisted.

“That’s the first thing they all say...”

“I’m offended.”

“That makes two of us.”

He was confused. He’d been nothing but courteous...albeit a bit neurotic, but surely not offensive? “Have I offended you?” he asked in earnest. 

“You’re the first guy to stop me from taking off my clothes, that isn’t exactly the highest form of praise for a lady of the night,” she said with a shrug.

His mouth formed an O in realisation, she made a good point. “Then I sincerely apologize,” he began, his fingers flexing at his sides. “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, because you are quite distractingly beautiful...” his voice trailed off as he realised he’d actually said that aloud, but to his relief she didn’t seem at all offended in fact the slight smile she gave him, made him relax somewhat. “I’m just new to this,” he added lamely.

“Hooking up with random strangers?” she supplied with a teasing tilt to her voice.

“That too, but I meant paying for well... well...oh dear there is just no way to say it out loud without seeming like an insensitive bastard,” he said.

“Prostitution is an occupation not an indignity... you don’t have to be apologetic.” 

Ichabod lifted his head, meeting her squarely in the eyes for the first time. She didn’t flinch or cower from his look, there was something so insistently stubborn about her expression that he could not help but feel like her gaze ignited something deep within himself. What that something was, he was not certain but as one who thirsted for knowledge, he would use tonight to find out.

Perhaps coming here would not be the mistake he’d begun to think it was. It could even prove to be both liberating and satisfying.

“Now, should I keep the heels on or off?” she asked breaking the impasse. She stood up and placed her hands on her narrow waist.

His eyes dropped to the extremely sexy black strapped heels and he gulped. “Perhaps we should keep them on, you know...” he paused to clear his voice and lift his eyes back to her face as she slowly advanced towards him. “You might need something to anchor yourself with.”

Her laugh was light and bubbly as she straddled his hips. “You seriously don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” she mused, her fingers grabbing his jaw. “You can’t handle me.”

The challenge went straight to his groin and the hands on her hips dug into the soft flesh. “I believe after this night is through you shall wish to recant your statement,” he said huskily.

“That almost sounds like a threat,” she whispered, leaning flush against him. 

“It’s a promise.”


	2. Baby Don't Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing response, the comments and the kudos! I couldn't ask for a more warm welcome into this fandom.
> 
> A lot going on so I haven't had time to work much on my works but hopefully I'll be able to make a serious dent in the next couple of days.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by Gwen Stefani's song by the same title.

Ichabod had thought it would be difficult returning to the little corner book shop after avoiding the place for so long. The place held too many memories for him and he’d feared that the moment he stepped through the doors he’d be bombarded by them.

Yet so far he’d managed to submerse himself into the heavenly joy of choosing which books to read. The smell of old and new books had an oddly calming effect on him. Exactly the sort of thing he needed after the week he’d had.

It was only made easier by the tryst he’d had with that enthralling creature. Just the mere thought of what had occurred between him and a complete stranger made his pants feel all too tight and uncomfortable. He’d never thought that the sexual part of his marriage was lacking, but that was before. Now he couldn’t help that think perhaps the tender and chaste encounters had helped in bridging the gap between him and his wife.

He would never have dreamt of being so demanding and borderline domineering towards his wife, afraid that like all delicate flowers she would break. So for years unbeknownst to even himself he’d held back, being gentle and loving while never allowing his baser desires to emerge. He’d thought himself completely in control of that part of himself, yet all it took was a challenge in the form of a carefully worded sentence to completely unravel him.

Exposing him for a liar.

“Ichabod?”

The hesitant call brought him out of his thoughts, his head momentarily spinning. So fast did he turn at the sound of that voice, a huge smile across his face. “Katrina...” he all but breathed the name out as he stared back at his wife. Ex- wife he mentally corrected.

She gave him a tentative smile in return and as they stood facing each other, it suddenly occurred to him how awkward it felt. “I see you’re back here again,” she commented after the silence had stretched too long. “I also see you’re already stocked for the rest of the weekend.”

He’d forgotten about the books clutched to his chest as if a life line. Carefully he placed them on the table. Of course he’d run into her. It used to be one of their things as a couple. He’d been wrong to assume that simply because they’d parted ways that she would no longer frequent this particular book shop. “Yes, I- I felt like reading...” he replied when he realised he’d just been standing there silent while she expected a reply.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, her fingers flicking her hair back. Something she did only when she was nervous. When did talking to each other become so difficult? “I’ve been meaning to talk to you actually...” she added after a pause and more hair flickering.

You could’ve just called. He couldn’t help thinking, but opted not to voice aloud. “Oh?” he said instead, rocking gently on his heels.

“Ichabod the thing is-”

“Crane?”

How someone could sound both smug and condescending at the same time had always baffled Ichabod. But that was before he met Abraham. Because even when they were the best of friends, he’d never failed to notice how snobby Abraham could be.

But whatever greeting he was about to impart on his ex-friend died on his tongue when the man casually walked up to where he and Katrina stood and as if it were the most normal thing in the world, draped his arm around her shoulders and gave it an affectionate squeeze. All the while his eyes boring into Ichabod.

Katrina looked as uncomfortable as Ichabod felt. He suddenly felt as if the sun itself was borrowing down solely on him and he couldn’t run for shelter fast enough. So this is how it felt when he’d ‘stolen’ Katrina from Abraham. The view wasn’t so wonderful on the other side.

Then because Abrahams was truly a prick personified, he began to rub the salt into Ichabod’s wounds. “You look quite awful, buddy... the season not agreeing with you?” he asked, words oiled in mock concern.

Ichabod forced himself to straighten up and his mouth to work over his suddenly rigid jaw. “Quite... I had no idea you two were re-acquainted...” he really tried to sound casual but even he could feel the ice in his tone. He was surprised when fog didn’t gather around his mouth.

Katrina’s eyes dropped to the ground. “Well, we... I-”

“I think we both needed to play the field a bit before coming to the realisation that what we had was truly special,” Abraham said interrupting Katrina’s stutter.

And inwardly Ichabod seethed. He’d never understood how meek and enabling Katrina became around Abraham. He didn’t know what angered him more, her actions or Abraham brushing off almost a decade long marriage as ‘playing the field’.

“I see you are both quite happy,” he said, refusing to take the other man’s bait.

“Indeed, you should come to our wedding.”

“Abraham I thought we both agreed to put that off for a while,” Katrina admonished, some of the fire Ichabod knew so well in her tone. 

“True, but Ichabod is an old friend I see no harm in inviting him to share our joy,” was the callous response. “After all it’s only courteous since he once offered me the very same.”

Katrina suddenly seemed unable to meet his eyes, no doubt remembering how they too had invited Abraham to their wedding. Although when Ichabod had made the invitation it was meant as a peace offering and something to help bury the hatchet. He’d been wrong, something he rarely admitted to being.

Uncomfortable he raked his brain for a way to make a hasty and dignified exit, one that wouldn’t make him seem like the scorned and discarded ex-husband. It was during this lull in the conversation when the smell of orchids dusted off with something dark and alluring assaulted his senses. It was oddly familiar and as he was about to dig into his memory, a hand suddenly glided over his chest, coming to rest casually on his arm.

He glanced to his right, eyes widening in surprise as a pair of familiar liquid browns eyes stared back at him. The grin she was giving him was positively sinful, rendering him speechless.

“Babe, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” she asked. 

Her words seemed to awaken him from his self induced trance. When his frantic searching of her eyes revealed nothing but mirth, he awkwardly cleared his throat, turning back to Katrina and Abraham, who both looked quite surprised.

To be fair so was he. But since he couldn’t read minds, he simply had to improvise and hope for the best. What on earth was she playing at? He wondered. “Right... Katrina, Abraham this is-” he paused suddenly remembering that she never did reveal her name.

What sort of man had the most unbelievable sexual encounter with a woman and remain clueless as to her name? “This is...” he continued hoping she’d save him and interject, but she only snuggled up to him. “This is my dear... dear ... dear...” Honestly was she just going to leave him to flounder like an idiot? “My dearest beloved...”

Abraham recovered first. “Nick to make your acquaintance Ichabod’s dearest beloved,” he said sarcastically as he extended his hand to her.

She shook it and then afterwards accepted Katrina’s. His ex-wife hurriedly bid them farewell, dragging her fiancé with her and leaving Ichabod with his ‘dearest beloved’. He smiled and waved until he was certain they were out of ear shot, before grabbing the little minx and pulling her behind a book shelf.

“What in the world was that?” he demanded, glaring down at her.

She rolled her eyes. “A thank you would suffice... you looked like you were in a jam and I figured after your generous tip I could return the favour,” she said with a shrug.

He hadn’t meant for his tip to be overly generous, but the gentleman in him could not ask her what she charged for her services exclusive of the house fee. “So you thought it a brilliant idea to make a fool out of me?” he asked.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, poking him in the side. “I helped you out- there are far worse ways that epic love tragedy could have ended.”

Ichabod realised she was right. There was no way he could’ve managed to escape that scene without having to pick up pieces of his pride on the floor. Suddenly he felt contrite. He owed her his gratitude not his anger. “I apologize, my anger is misdirected,” he said soberly.

“Damn right it is,” she grumbled. “I accept your apology.”

He released a relieved sigh. “I never did catch your name,” he recalled.

She smirked. “I usually let my clients decide for themselves, keeps the fantasy alive or something...”

He leaned slightly into her face. “I insist, it’s driving me insane this not knowing,” he admitted, realising the truth in his statement. He’d always been fascinated with a good mystery and not knowing her name yet having had the chance to know her at an intimate level was equal parts exasperating and thrilling.

“You just aren’t going to let this go, are you?” she asked him the teasing tilt to her voice quite pleasing to his ears.

“It would be against my very nature,” he stated.

She seemed to consider it for a moment before speaking, “Since you are so curious meet me at Dan’s, 8pm and maybe you might get your answer.” She made to extract herself from his grasp, but he didn’t remove his hands.

“I appreciate you giving me your word, but due to the span of our acquaintance I find it’s not merely enough.”

“Are you asking me for collateral?”

He wasn’t really sure what he was asking her. He was finding it quite difficult to think with the close proximity between them. Never before had the mere presence of a woman have such a profound effect upon him. He found himself tempted to devour her lips and press himself against her soft and tempting body.

These were not the thoughts of the gentleman he’d been bred to be.

“Perhaps a kiss?” he heard himself suggest.

“That’s going to cost you one drink.”

His hands were already moving to her sides of their own violation. “Let’s make it a whole bottle,” he growled into her mouth. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be much of a chaste kiss.”

Then he was devouring her mouth, completely forgetting where they where and to be quite honest he found that the thought of Mrs Els, the elderly shop keeper, coming upon them in such a compromising position was of no concern to him.

To put it bluntly, he really couldn’t give a fuck.


	3. Rumplestiltskin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the continuous support! I truly appreciate all the comments and kudos.
> 
> This was an unbelievably difficult chapter to write, it just refused to work with me and I'm still not satisified with it.
> 
> The editing also leaves much to be desired, I apologize.

“Are you sure she is going to come?” Henry asked, shifting one of his men on the board.

They’d received curious looks when they’d began their game of Draughts, unsurprisingly so since they were at a bar. Ichabod had never himself entered Dan’s before, the establishment somewhat seedy for his taste, but in his urgency to taste her lips once more he’d hurriedly agreed to meet her here.

Being a stickler for time he’d arrived at 7: 30 with Henry at his heels. “I still don’t understand why you insisted on coming along,” Ichabod said. He was losing the game and quite badly too, but he was too preoccupied with seeing her again.

The one whose name remained an elusive puzzle he was dying to figure out.

“I couldn’t possibly allow you to come to this place all by yourself,” Henry said. “They don’t even serve drinks with a coaster... who knows what other forms of debauchery are allowed?”

Secretly Ichabod was hoping his night would be filled with much that his dear friend would consider immoral. “There’s a police station a block from here,” he pointed out.

“That’s what scares me the most,” Henry sniffed before he took a sip of water from his own water bottle. Not trusting the bar to have uncontaminated water.

Ichabod resisted the urge to roll his eyes and that’s when he saw her from across the room. He all but forgot to breathe, enchanted and completely under her spell. He’d never understood why woman insisted on clothing themselves in extremely tight jeans. His own ex-wife had preferred dresses. But now as he sat, forgetting completely that he needed to breathe, he couldn’t help thinking it was surely a crime to make material look so devastatingly appealing.

He’d seen her dressed twice before, in that sheer and flimsy gown and than in another pair of jeans and a simple tank. Those jeans looked like sweat pants compared to the black skin tight jeans she wore now. Vaguely he wondered how much damage to his teeth he’d suffer if he tried ripping them off her with just his mouth.

She finally reached their table and he reminded himself to breathe. “I see you brought a bouncer,” she said, flashing him a grin before turning to greet Henry.

His friend who was the optimum of a prim and proper gentleman had the look of a well fed Cheshire cat. 

“Why Ichabod didn’t mention that he was meeting Aphrodite herself,” he was saying much to Ichabod’s chagrin. Henry was seriously going to flirt with his, Ichabod’s, date? 

“Aren’t you just too smooth,” she responded playfully.

“Not everywhere, I can assure you that there are parts of myself you would find extremely hard-”

“Good bye Henry, take your board game with you,” Ichabod interrupted all but shoving the board and the pieces at his friend.

Henry smirked, as if to say: what else did you expect bringing such an attractive woman?

“It was a pleasure meeting you dear, I regret its premature end,” he said, tucking away his game and picking up his water bottle.

She laughed and even allowed him to kiss her hand before he bid them both farewell and strutted out the bar like a bloody peacock. Ichabod glared at his retreating back.

“He’s a nice guy,” she commented, placing her elbows on the table and reaching for his untouched drink.

“He is old enough to be your father,” he countered.

“Remind me to never say nice things about your friends,” she quipped sarcastically.

“I assure you, I shall,” he said somewhat petulantly. He found he didn’t like the idea of her liking anyone but him. A completely irrational and foreign feeling for him. 

“Abbie.”

“I beg your pardon?” he blinked.

She casually took a sip from his drink before putting it down again. “My name is Abbie,” she repeated. “Abigail Grace Mills.”

He smiled. He would never have guessed the innocuous name. She seemed so fiery and sensual, he hadn’t expected her name to sound so saintly almost angelic. “It’s a beautiful name,” he said sincerely.

“You look a bit surprised,” she noted, her finger absently tracing the rim of the tumbler.

“I am, but pleasantly so,” he agreed. “Abigail Grace...” he let the name roll on his tongue.

She scrunched her brows in thought. “One of my foster mothers called me that,” she said.

Her statement was not lost on him or the fact that she used the plural form. He took that bit of information and tucked it at the back of his mind. “Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asked.

She scrunched up her nose in thought. “No... but perhaps just Abbie for now,” she replied.

“Okay Just Abbie, what did you have in mind for our evening?” he queried. Hopefully her thoughts weren’t as base as his. That could come later, for now he wanted to delve a bit more in the mystery that was Abigail Grace Mills.

She smirked. “You promised me a bottle,” she reminded him.

He matched her grin with his own. “I did and I’m a man of my word.”

“Good because you are going to be in need of words in a couple of hours,” she said before hailing over a waiter. “A bottle of tequila please,” she requested giving him a teasing smile. She waited until the waiter and gone off to get their drink before speaking again. “Let’s hope you have a better handle on your liquor tonight.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I assure you Abbie, I am quite capable of performing even under the influence,” he said. Thoughts of their first encounter playing in his mind.

She laughed. God he loved that sound, almost as much as the other sounds she could make. “Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself?” she asked, a lock of hair falling over her face. “A bottle of tequila can only get you so far...”

He couldn’t resist stretching out his hand and tucking back the errand strand, lightly caressing the side of her face in the process. “How far would it get me?” he asked, playing along.

She pretended to think it over. “First base, it would take quite a lot of charm from you to get me to second,” she answered.

“I’ve been told I could charm a snake...”

She raised an eyebrow smirking back at him, “Hmmm well, we will have to wait and see then.”

“Indeed we shall, Miss Mills,” he said just as the waiter returned with a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, a sliced lemon and some salt. 

/

His place seemed too far and he doubted either of them were in a condition to drive, yet he found himself allowing her to lead him towards her car. Abbie managed to push him inside the backseat and it wasn’t until he felt a welcomed weight on his stomach that he realised she’d managed to squeeze them both in the back of her SUV.

His legs were practically yelling from being squeezed into the confined space, but he paid the pain no heed as his hands rested on her hips. She was bent over him, her face inches from his and he could smell the tequila laced with something chocolaty on her breath. He’d always had a sweet tooth. He thought as he captured her lips in a searing kiss.

She ground herself against his crotch eliciting a groan from him as he dug his fingers into her hips. Dazed with lust and alcohol he barely registered when she pulled away, though their lips were still brushing against each other.

“Lift your hands,” she ordered into his mouth and he obeyed without hesitation. She gave him a mischievous smirk before pulling out a pair of handcuffs seemingly out of thin air. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

“With my life,” he heard himself utter and was only half surprised that he meant it. 

She cuffed his wrist. “You are really going to enjoy this,” she promised.

/

“I’ve seen gremlins less green than you,” Amanda Phips remarked the next morning as she peered down at him from her righteous perch.

Ichabod audible groaned as he rubbed his sore eyes, blinking up at her from where he laid sprawled on his couch. He didn’t need any more reminders of what a terrible mistake last night had been. Well not all of last night, just the bottle of Tequila. He thought. Abbie had the gut of a sailor.

Before he could respond he had to clear his dry and gravelly throat. “Can’t you leave me alone and go back to pretending that you actually get paid to do more than harass my person?” He asked exasperated. His first lecture for the day would only start in the late afternoon and until then he intended to enjoy some peace and quiet while recovering from his hangover.

His housekeeper gave him a sour look, nothing he wasn’t used to after having her work for him for the past couple of months post his divorce. “Before I go back to not working,” she began icily, brandishing a piece of red lace at him. “Now I’m not one to pry...” Lies she enjoyed sticking her nose in his business. “And I’m not one to judge...” The pastor was more forgiving than her. “And it’s not like I’ve never seen a pair of ladies under garments as I too am I woman...” This is open to debate; after all she emasculated him on a daily basis. “But I find myself feeling great concern when I find a pair of ripped woman’s underwear on the kitchen floor.” 

Ichabod could feel the heat spread over his face as he tried to think of a believable lie. “There is a perfectly logical explanation...” he started. There wasn’t. 

“Well don’t keep me in anticipation...”

Honestly a more evil woman he had yet to meet. “They belong to a female I am acquainted with,” he said.

Miss Phips placed a hand on her hip. “What wretched woman walks around in torn underwear?” she asked.

“They weren’t torn-”

“They are-”

He raised a hand to stop her mid speech. “I tore them,” he stated. “With my teeth,” he added after a breath.

Several seconds passed in silence before Ms Phips spoke, “I don’t get paid to hide indiscretions.” She gave him another disapproving look. “I always suspected you weren’t half as decent as you sound.” 

“If you sounded anymore condescending you’d be paying your own salary,” Ichabod remarked dryly. 

She huffed before she placed the tattered underwear on the coffee table before him. “And the kitchen is a mess... who do you think is supposed to clean that?” she asked snidely.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Hopefully the woman whose wages I pay to clean my house.” He said darkly as he reached for his now cold coffee. He was normally quite tidy, but apparently drunk Ichabod was a bit of a slob. “Also at the time I was drunk as in the past tense.” Least she start thinking he was an alcoholic.

“And I don’t care ...as in the present tense,” Miss Phips retorted before shuffling off.

Ichabod waited until her footsteps had disappeared before glancing at the unsalvageable pair of knickers and allowed himself a pleased grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually there will be actual smut... Just in case someone was wondering


End file.
